Chương 42: Chapter 20 part 2

Inside the ruined guest wing of the Vael estate, the atmosphere was as taut as a drawn bowstring. High Apothecary Silas Vane had commandeered the only intact room left in the corridor, transforming a large mahogany dining table into an improvised alchemical laboratory. He worked with a frantic, obsessive precision, sweat beading on his forehead despite the fact that the ambient temperature in the room was rapidly plummeting below freezing. Resting in the center of the table was the Abyssal Frost Marrow.

It wasn't just cold; it was a localized thermodynamic anomaly. The pristine, fist-sized crystal radiated an Ultimate Yin mist so thick that it spilled over the edges of the table like a heavy, ghostly waterfall, instantly turning the spilled blood on the floorboards into jagged red ice.

"By the gods, the density," Silas muttered, his teeth chattering as he carefully clamped a pair of heavily enchanted, thermal-insulated tongs around the crystal. Brewing a stable elixir from the Abyssal Frost Wyrm material was the pinnacle of alchemical theory, something usually requiring a team of Royal Apothecaries and a heavily controlled environment. Doing it in a ruined mansion with a few hours ticking on the clock was practically suicide.

If he made a single mistake, if he allowed the absolute-zero energy to violently decompress, the resulting frost-detonation would shatter the entire estate. Silas placed a thick, hardened-glass mortar over a runic burner, dialing the magical flames to their maximum. He poured a generous measure of viscous, golden liquid into the bowl.

"Sun-kissed Lotus extract," Silas whispered to himself, grounding his racing heart.

"A perfect, neutral Yang-base to insulate the Frost Marrow without neutralizing its potency. Then, Grounded Earth-root to thicken the membrane..." With excruciating care, Silas used a mythril file to shave a fraction of an ounce of dust from the Marrow. As the glowing azure dust fell into the boiling golden extract, the liquid hissed violently, fighting against the sudden, shocking drop in temperature.

Silas stirred frantically, using his own restorative mana to forcefully bind the opposing elements together, creating a perfectly suspended, shimmering elixir that glowed with a stabilized, twilight-blue hue. Standing guard just outside the open doorway were Vice Guild Master Durgan and Axel. The two mercenaries were battered, their armor ruined and their bodies heavily bandaged, but they stood with immovable, granite-like resolve.

Durgan leaned on his broken axe, his flint-hard eyes scanning the dark, acid-scorched corridor, ignoring the shouting Royal Guard troops attempting to secure the courtyard below.

"Focus on your vials, Apothecary," Durgan rumbled, his deep voice cutting through the tense silence.

"Do not let your hands shake. We hold this door. If any cultist returns to finish the job, they will have to step over my corpse to reach you."

"Just make sure you leave some for me, Boss," Axel wheezed from his seated position against the wall, carefully polishing his surviving sword.

"I still owe them for my ribs." Silas offered a brief, breathless nod of gratitude and turned back to his perilous work, painstakingly repeating the shaving process. He had to succeed. The Heavenly Demon had entrusted him with the life of her disciple, and Silas knew with certainty that if he failed, there wouldn't be enough of him left to bury.

Meanwhile, high above the frantic alchemy taking place at the Vael estate, the Royal Command Post inside the palace was suffocating under a thick, oppressive blanket of terrified silence. Crown Prince Theron paced behind the massive tactical map spread across the oak table. He was still reeling from the encounter at the crater. The woman, Ming Xuan Ji, had breached his city, ordered him to lock down his own capital, and then vanished into the sky faster than a fired arrow.

Archmage Kirnof sat heavily in a velvet chair nearby, his violet eyes still wide with residual shock. The reigning head of the Ivory Tower had stood at the lip of the Abyss and felt his entire worldview shatter.

"She has no mana, Theron," Kirnof finally whispered, breaking the silence.

"I tried to read her core. There is no elemental attunement. There is no magical matrix. She is a mortal vessel, but the energy contained within her is so unfathomably dense that the natural laws of our world were physically warping around her to accommodate her existence. The mathematics of war, our Archmages, our Sword Saints, they mean absolutely nothing. We are entirely at her mercy." Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Chief Spymaster Elias Veyne wiped the cold sweat from his haggard face, his bloodshot eyes darting to the Crown Prince.

"She ordered us to lock down the capital, Your Highness. We must comply before she returns." BOOM. The sound did not come from a spell, and it did not come from the dungeon below. It was a catastrophic, earth-shaking detonation of pure concussive force that struck the Royal Palace like a physical battering ram. The heavily reinforced stained-glass windows of the command post violently rattled in their iron frames.

The thick stone floor beneath their boots trembled so hard that Elias had to grab the edge of the tactical map to stay upright.

"We are under attack!" Elias shrieked, scrambling backward.

"The cultists?!"

"To the balcony!" Kirnof roared. The Archmage sprinted toward the heavy mahogany doors leading to the spire's external observation deck, throwing them open to the howling storm. Theron and Elias pounded after him, stepping out into the biting, freezing rain. Kirnof gripped the wet stone railing, his violet eyes flaring with a blinding, arcane light as he forcefully expanded his sensory domain across the sky.

He searched frantically for the massive, glowing mana signature of a hyper-incantation, or the sprawling runic circles of an imperial bombardment fleet. He found nothing.

"There are no spells!" Kirnof shouted over the roaring wind, genuine terror bleeding into his usually unflappable voice.

"No elemental disturbance! No portals! The ambient mana is completely static!"

"Look!" Elias pointed a trembling finger toward the wealthy noble district, tracing a line toward the northern horizon. Tearing through the heavy, dark storm clouds, moving at a speed that completely defied aerodynamics, was a single streak of black and crimson. It was carving a perfectly straight, visible tunnel through the falling rain as it rocketed away from the capital, leaving a rippling, circular shockwave of displaced air in its wake.

Kirnof stared at the streak, his brilliant, scholarly mind rapidly analyzing the physics of what he was witnessing. The color completely drained from the Archmage's face.

"It is not a spell, Theron," Kirnof whispered, his voice trembling as he gripped the stone railing until his fingers bled.

"It is pure, unadulterated force. She is compressing the atmosphere beneath her feet using Qi and physically kicking off the air itself." The Crown Prince watched the anomaly vanish into the northern storm. His tactical mind violently jump-started. I told her the Vael estate was attacked, Theron realized, his eyes widening. She just returned there to check on her people... and now she is leaving the capital entirely. The reality crashed down upon Theron.

Ming Xuan Ji was heading north, likely to hunt down the Blood God cultists who had provoked her. Which meant that the Vael estate, and whoever had survived the initial cult siege, was currently sitting completely exposed in the middle of Elyndria. Theron had dispatched the Silver Order and half his heavy infantry, but they had arrived too late to stop the initial slaughter.

If the Heavenly Demon returned from her hunt to find her people dead because the Crown's reinforcements failed to properly secure the aftermath, she wouldn't ask for an explanation. She would simply erase the Royal Palace from the map. Theron's royal pride vanished instantly, completely overwritten by a screaming, primal need to secure her favor. He spun around, his heavy ceremonial cape snapping in the storm.

"General Balkan!" Theron roared, marching back into the command post and locking eyes with his top military commander.

"Yes, Sire!" Balkan barked, snapping a rigid salute.

"Take personal command of the Silver Order and the heavy infantry already stationed at the Vael estate immediately!" Theron ordered, his voice echoing with absolute, unquestionable authority.

"We were too late to prevent the cultists from breaching her home the first time. I will not make that mistake twice." Theron marched up to the general, pointing a gauntleted finger at the man's chestplate.

"You are to reinforce that perimeter. Form an impenetrable shield wall," Theron commanded, his eyes wide with cold, rational terror.

"No one enters, and no one leaves. There is an apothecary inside that estate. You treat him well. If so much as a stray dog approaches that manor to disturb them, you shoot it. We are going to ensure Lady Ming's residence is the safest place on this continent. Do you understand me?!"

"Crystal clear, Your Highness!" Balkan shouted, pivoting on his heel and sprinting out of the command post to mobilize the heavy infantry. Theron turned his burning gaze to his Spymaster.

"Elias. Execute the lockdown she demanded," Theron said, his voice dropping into a register of deadly, ruthless calm.

"Seal the massive iron gates. Ground every wyvern rider. I want this city turned into an impenetrable vault. And send your shadow-operatives into the lower rings immediately. Hunt down every single Blood God cultist trapped inside these walls. I want them purged before they can cause any more damage."

"At once, my Prince," Elias bowed deeply, scurrying from the room to unleash his hounds. Archmage Kirnof stepped back inside, wiping the rainwater from his silver hair. He looked at his nephew, recognizing the heavy burden the young ruler was currently bearing.

"I will prepare the Mage Tower to react appropriately," Kirnof stated firmly.

"If she returns, or if the cult attempts a massive retaliation from within the walls, the Ivory Tower will stand ready."

"Thank you, Uncle," Theron breathed, a flicker of genuine relief crossing his exhausted features.

"I am glad I can depend on you in times like this." Kirnof nodded grimly before activating the royal tether on his ring, instantly teleporting away using the magic array, back to the safety of the Mage Tower. Theron looked back toward the shattered balcony doors, listening to the howling rain. He was no longer a helpless prince facing a god; he was a wartime ruler leveraging the apocalypse.

"If she expects this city sealed," Theron whispered, "we will give her a fortress."